Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers) (37 page)

And tomorrow is Christmas.
 

I pull the covers over my head at the thought, thinking back to that conversation by the fire. It was only a few days ago, but now it seems like it was ages past, like it was in another lifetime that I told him about Eli and all that I’d lost. And my relationship with Rowan seems both bigger and more real than I ever felt with Eli—or any other man before him.

But still, it’s Christmas Eve, and I’m leaving soon. I won’t be expecting him to ask me to stay, and I’ll be heading out on that damn private jet, come hell or high water.
 

But he might keep true to his word and follow you, come see you. And then what?

“And then what?” I say it aloud into the empty blue room. Last night, I told Rowan I needed to sleep alone. The bed was cold, even with Eliza hopping on in the middle of the night and snuggling in next to me. I was too tired to push her away, and too cold to want to. For a while, I tried to listen for traces of Rowan in the house, but I couldn’t hear him. And I was all alone.
 

I move my leg back and forth in the bed. Empty again. Even the dog has abandoned me in my time of need.

But what exactly do I need? Have you figured that shit out yet, Cadence? Is it a billionaire cowboy who lives alone on a New Mexico ranch? Or is it like you keep saying to yourself—you need the city, your friends, your life?
 

I close my eyes and try to think for a second. The ideas get all jumbled up in my head—the windy, narrow streets of Manhattan and the ridiculously expensive warm little studio with Anna in it... swirling together with the broad, open sky that hangs over Rowan’s ranch, the dog and the horses, and the scent of evergreen trees and mountains and waterfalls and runnels in the mountains.

“You can’t have it all,” I say to myself as I slink out of the bed and pace over the slick old hardwood floors, my eyes darting from the exposed beams on the ceiling to the blue painting that has presided over my time here. If I go to the window, I can barely see the guest house and the stables on the horizon. “And you wouldn’t be in this predicament if you’d stayed out in the guest house... now would you? Hell, I don’t know. Maybe I would be.”
 

My mind is all mixed up, and my heart is too.
 

I step up to the window and look outside to see the sun hanging low in the sky, just peaking over the mountains. My concept of time has changed since I came to this place—it always either seems early or late, never like it’s a real time that corresponds with a number. Either it’s time for breakfast, time for painting, or time for...

I blush at the thought.
Rowan between my legs, Rowan’s taste upon my lips, Rowan making me scream for more even when I’m close to breaking down, close to sobbing uncontrollably, losing my mind completely. Rowan, bringing me back from the edge of reality into a world that’s just his and mine.
 

There’s a shadow that crosses in front of the stables—a dog-shaped shadow... followed by a vehicle shaped shadow. And the vehicle—
a tractor?
—is driven by a man with a titled cowboy hat and carries something firm, large, and heavy in its truck bed.
 

“Not a tractor. What in the hell are those things called? It looks more like a tank.”
A Geyser? No. A Gander? No, Cadence, you’re an idiot. What the hell?
“That’s a
Gator
! And what in the ever-loving hell does he have in the back part of that thing? It’s a... fuck, it’s big. Christ on a bike. What on
earth
...”

Rowan must see my silhouette at the window because he starts waving one arm wild and high, and even from this distance, I can hear the rumble of the Gator and Eliza’s barking mixing into a wild, joyous cacophony. As he rounds the corner near the patio, my eyes go wide and my pulse starts to race. I can
feel
the same grin on Rowan’s face, even though I can’t quite see his features from here.
 

“Well, I’ll be damned. I thought I wasn’t getting a Christmas tree this year. That crazy bastard went and cut one down.”

For me. For us. For this last little bit of time together.
I try to shake the emotion rising inside of me, the
hope
that’s always gotten me into such sad, awful shit. But I don’t--right now, on this Christmas Eve, my hope and joy are unshakable. This man knew I was planning on waking up sad planning on making my final escape in just a few days time, but still, he brought me this. Just like we were together for years, like he knew just what to do to make me smile.
 

And on Christmas Eve. Hot damn.
 

Rowan comes wheeling around the corner, mud and snow splattering from the wheels, Eliza nipping at the snow and shaking herself wildly as she gallops toward the house with an inexpressible glee that somehow mirrors my own. Unable to stay still any longer, I throw on my jeans and boots under my nightshirt and run down the stairs as fast as I can, grabbing the jacket that Rowan gave me for riding. It’s one of his old ones, and the fabric smells like him. When I burst outside onto the patio, the cold air hits my face, and I can even smell the Christmas tree, mixed with the piney, earthy, uniquely
Rowan
scent of the coat I’ve wrapped around me.
 

“I got you a tree, city princess!” His Texas accent is working overtime, and he hops down off the truck, nimble as a schoolboy. “Bet you never had to check a tree for critters, young lady, but we gotta get this one cleaned off unless we want some eggs hatching or squirrels building nests in our rafters.”
 

“Oh my God,” I moan as I traipse toward him, nearly getting stuck down in the snow with each step. “I don’t want to check a tree for any kind of
critters
. That is definitely not my style.”

“Well the road into town is still good and blocked. We’ll have to make do with a critter-heavy tree, and whatever I can find around the house to cook.” He grins at me and runs over, catching me in his arms and twirling me around. When he sets me down, he kisses me hard, his tongue running over my bottom lip and sending shivers through my body that have nothing to do with the cold.
 

“Thank you,” I breathe when he pulls away. “Thank you for the tree. This is the first time I haven’t been with my family on Christmas. I told my mom and dad I needed to get away, and I didn’t realize how much it would mean to have something like this... something like home.” My voice cracks on the last word, and hot tears prick at my eyes, turning cold as they meet the early morning air. Rowan kisses me again and, not for the first time, he silences my sadness with his kiss.
 

In that kiss, I feel his answer for me, his wish for me—that he’s my family right here and now, even if I leave tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. And that even though my sadness is silenced and forgotten in this moment, he holds it in his heart and understands it in the deepest way. He accepts that part of me, and he carries it with him. And it doesn’t matter if it’s too intense, or if it’s too soon. Our love may be fleeting—it has to be—but this day is expansive, holding the whole of our relationship in its grasp, and honoring it even if its life must wane as the new year approaches. Tears stream down my cheeks unhindered as the thoughts flow through my mind, one after the other, my understanding of Rowan reaching its peak.
 

He was ready to fall in love, absolutely and completely. In his mind, I was the woman he was waiting for, the woman who would heal what Joanna left behind.

I touch the stubble on his face like I have a hundred times since I came here. Even though he shaves every evening before bed, there’s stubble that forms each morning, giving him a gritty look that no other billionaire I know of has. The stubble pricks against my fingers, reminiscent of his unbridled masculinity and the force with which he lives his life.
 

So different from any other rich man. So unconcerned with the thoughts of others, the designs they put on him.

And to me, that makes sense. He’s not like anyone else—he lives in the outer reaches of civilization, stowed away from life, because his heart belongs here. He’s never needed to prove himself beyond his interactions with Joanna because he’s happy as he is.
 

He looks at me for a moment like he’s reading my thoughts, trying to make sense of my tears and the feelings I keep hidden under layers that I hardly understand. “Happy or sad?” His voice is gruff when he speaks, and he kisses me again, the slight stubble scratching against my face and bringing me back to reality.
 

“Happy. Sad. Both, I think.” I wipe away the tears with the edge of my sleeve and look back at the fluffy tree that Rowan went out to cut before I was even awake.
 

“Those tears don’t need to be sad, Cadence.” He brushes a gloved thumb against my cheek, wiping the rest of the moisture away. I lean my head into his hand, grateful for the warmth and realness of Rowan, here beside me. “If I make you happy—and I hope to God that I do—I’ll bend over backwards to be with you. I’ve never been so sure about anything.” His dancing blue eyes meet mine, and he grips my waist hard, pulling me into him.
 

“You do make me happy. But we said we weren’t going to talk about this.” I pause for a moment and purse my lips. I think of that horrible day when the doctor glanced at the ultrasound and told me that—yet again—the pregnancy wasn’t viable. Six hours later, it had all started to end on its own, the pain and nausea cresting in waves as I watched Netflix alone in my apartment. “It’s a distracted happiness,” I continue. “There are things I need to work out on my own. I need to go back and see what kind of life I want to lead. I need time to—”

He nods, like he’s going along with what I’m saying, like he
expected
me to say it, even if he doesn’t like it. “Be sad? Get it all out?”

“Yes, to grieve. I haven’t before, and I’m not sure if I even know how. But it’s important for me to go so that I can move on.” The tears threaten to come again, but Rowan takes me by the hand and leads me over to the Gator.
 

“Well then, you go. When you need to. But Cadence—” I nod, right as he starts to help me up onto the passenger seat of his farm vehicle.
 

“Yeah?”

“I’m not giving up on you, on us. That’s not what I’m about. I care about everything you’ve been through—but the fact that you’ve been through it—that doesn’t change how I feel about you. That’s all I’ll say, and there’s no reason in the world for you to respond.” I nod again and look ahead as he goes around to the driver’s seat and starts up the Gator, guiding it over to the back doors of his estate. The tears are coming again, but the wind dries them as fast as they fall.
 

I’m not even sure why I’m crying this time. It feels impossible to pin down this emotion and understand it.
 

Joy, bursting with sadness, punctuated with soft tears. And more real than I’ve felt in ages.

When we get to the house, the air keeps whipping around us and Eliza barks cheerfully as we pull the tree inside. Somehow, the sun, the air, the quietness of the Christmas Eve day around us—it’s made my thoughts, my grief, die back down to a dull roar. Inside, we prop the tree up in a rusty tree stand that must be thirty years old. Rowan pulls through a dozen boxes in the attic and finally finds a pile of old lights that may or may not set the whole damn house on fire. Half of them end up working, and the other half don’t even give a flicker. We throw the working ones up on the tree without ornaments while we drink eggnog and Rowan runs back and forth from the kitchen, tending to a turkey breast that he took out of the freezer the day before.
 

The rich smell begins to fill the house, mixing with the scent of pine. For the first time in days, I don’t think about going home or leaving this place, leaving this man I’m falling in love with behind.

I know that will come in time, that it has to. But for now, it’s off my mind.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“This is pretty good, for a thrown together Christmas meal,” she says, sitting on the hearth by the fire. I lugged in fifty pounds of firewood so we could keep the fire going all of today and tomorrow, but hell, it was worth it to see the smile on her face after we decorated our very basic Christmas tree and started a fire.
 

“Oh honey, this is Christmas
Eve
dinner. We barely got a thing to eat tomorrow. I think we’ll have to live on eggs and potatoes.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs as she stuffs a bite of turkey into her mouth and nibbles at the macaroni and cheese I made instead of stuffing. Turns out, neither of us likes stuffing a damn bit, and I always have six different kinds of cheese lying around. Like just about everything with us, that coincidence turned out real good. Everything except for that thing about her leaving. That I can’t wrap my head around. It seems like she’s been here for years, but maybe it’s just that my mind wants to see her that way.
 

Maybe she’s right. Maybe we both need the time.
 

We sit in a comfortable silence and polish off the eggnog. In the light of a good buzz with the fire roaring on beside us, the tree looks almost professional save for the lack of ornaments. It was a damn fine pine, and I thought of her every moment when I was cutting it down and bringing it back up to the house. For her, just for her. The turmoil and torment of the last few days made me realize that our plan for having no Christmas at all was a terrible idea.